


Nights Like These

by NimWallace



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety Attacks, Autism Spectrum, Established Relationship, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Ficlet, M/M, One Shot, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-23 00:14:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16608164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NimWallace/pseuds/NimWallace
Summary: Sherlock’s mind sometimes creates blocks. John helps him through one. TRIGGER WARNING FOR PANIC ATTACKS





	Nights Like These

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Бывают и такие ночи](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16789666) by [Little_Unicorn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Little_Unicorn/pseuds/Little_Unicorn)



> So I wrote this a while ago and decided to put it up

“They talk to me.”

“Hmm?”

“The people on the street.”

John looked up from his reading at the man sitting across from him. Sherlock was peering downat London, the shadows from the fire licking his face.

“What do you mean?” John asked slowly. It wasn’t unlike Sherlock to use metaphors—he loved drama—but he looked a bit haunted, and certainly a bit sad.

“I see what they’re thinking, saying,” Sherlock said. “I hate it. Seeing in their heads. People have violent minds. I tire of it.”

“Are you okay, love?” John asked cautiously. “What do you mean you ‘see’?”

“You think I’m crazy,” he accused, looking hurt. “I’m not crazy, John. I’m. I’m not.” His voice cracked.

“I know,” John said slowly. “I don’t think you’re crazy. I just want to understand.”

“You’re patronizing me. I’m not lying—I see, I really do, I try not to.” He was choking his words out now, and his hands were shaking.

“Sherlock, I believe you. Look at me. Breathe a moment.”

He tried, but his heart rate spiked, and he couldn’t breathe without sobbing, and now he was frustrated.

John took his hands, kneeling in front of him.

“Breathe. What made you think of this, hmm? Has this happened before?”

The methodical stroke of John’s thumb across his hand soothed him and he was able to speak.

“All the time. I—everyone’s eyes always look at me so coldly....they’re always looking at me...”

Sherlock didn’t have breakdowns like this often, but when he did, they were bad. He had small triggers—certain sounds or smells, usually.

“I know. But nobody’s looking at you now, see? Nobody to stare. Just me here. Take a few more deep breaths. No one is looking. You’re okay.”

“I’m sorry that this happens.”

“Don’t apologize, it isn’t your fault. Just relax..breathe now, there.”

When Sherlock did come to his senses after an attack, he was often embarrassed for weeks. It took tremendous effort from John to coax him back.

John often wondered if he really did see and hear things—he muttered about it sometimes in his sleep. His reality sometimes blurred—years of a job like he has will do that. They were taking breaks from cases.

“I’m going to make you tea now, okay? Are you safe to shower?”

He nodded meekly.

“All right. Shower and I’ll meet you in bed.”

They had a routine for these nights—the tea because it warmed them, and the shower because when Sherlock grew frustrated he sometimes said his skin felt suffocating—the showers helped with that.

After the shower, they would drink the tea and sleep with the television on so he had something to listen to.

It helped.

Sherlock nodded.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

“Of course.”


End file.
